The Greatest Reward
by Lady Grantham
Summary: It takes the death of a foreigner to bring them together. Warning: Cora/O'Brien and frakking proud of it. Written for my darling muse and braintwin.


**A/N:** This fic stems entirely from a prompt by the genius that is Scarlet Secret; Why didn't Cora wake up O'Brien to help carry Pamuk? And in this fic she does.

Looking back on it, Sarah had been doomed from the start. The second the Countess had said "_I need you_" in that ridiculously charming voice she'd jumped out of bed without a second's pause. She hadn't stood a chance against the pleading blue eyes and desperately beautiful face.

Desperately beautiful face? What was she, a fucking poet? Thomas would either say she had a screw loose or she was going soft in her old age, and he was probably true on _both_ counts. But the gods honest truth was she couldn't remember a time this woman hadn't owned her, body and soul, even if she hadn't known it until today. She couldn't for the life in her recall not wanting Lady Grantham, or at least wanting to care for her, even if it didn't involve her hands making considerable progress in ripping off her bloody nightdress to get to the skin beneath.

And so they bloody well should be! She'd had enough practice after all that she ought to have it off in record time and good job too; lord knew her ladyship wouldn't even be able to undress herself if she was on fire. Sarah wouldn't be bested by the bleedin' garment, even if she had to tear it, not with such a prize at stake. She would be the one repairing it after all, so what did a rip or two matter?

Writhing underneath her, soft and willing, Cora released an impatient moan that almost had Sarah rolling her eyes. It wasn't _her_ fault the upper class wore such bleedin' impractical clothes (although she doubted they'd been designed with _this_ in mind) so the Countess could bloody well wait. She'd have her undressed soon enough if it killed her. But as she looked down, raking her eyes over the woman's soft mewling form, flushed and so very ready, Sarah couldn't bring herself to be even a _little_ irritated. Instead, she leaned in to steal a deep and hungry kiss from her waiting lips, tangling their tongues together as she resumed her disrobing with flourish.

She briefly contemplated the idea of leaving the nightdress on. The undergarments would be easy to remove after all, and they were really all she needed off to well and truly fuck the Countess. The idea of roughly pushing up the skirt, dragging down the scrap of silk, and burying her fingers deep inside Cora was enough to make Sarah groan, but it wasn't enough, not by half. If this was the only chance she ever got – and she had a feeling it would be – then she wasn't going to waste it by getting straight to the point. She wanted to take her time, to kiss and taste every inch of Cora until she broke, and she couldn't do that if she left this stupid nightdress on. And Sarah had a feeling that on this night of all nights, after what they'd both just done in the name of the bloody Crawley family, Cora needed more than a quick and clumsy fuck.

Managing to push the garment up her _exquisite_ legs – they looked like they'd been carved from bleedin' marble – Sarah was surprised by the nimble fingers that had latched onto her collar. For a woman who had probably never dressed anybody in her blessed little life, Cora quickly proved herself surprising proficient. She had the collar undone and Sarah's own nightdress unbuttoned to mid-chest with such swiftness that Sarah began to suspect the Countess really _had_ been paying more attention than she'd thought over the last ten years. But what was even more surprising, Sarah hadn't really been expecting to be undressed – she'd expected nothing more than the chance to worship her mistress, and even _that_ she didn't deserve. Cora caught her eyes as she stared down at her in momentary wonder and smiled as her fingers grazed the flesh of her bare chest.

"You didn't really think I was going to let this go unreciprocated, did you O'Brien?"

She didn't know what to say to that, and kissed her instead, just like she had at the _start_ of all of this.

They'd carried the corpse of a foreigner across the length of the bloody house, and her ladyship had been sobbing and shaking and Sarah had never seen her so unglued, and she'd done the first thing that had entered her mind. Instead of all of the sane and rational possibilities she couldn't think of right now, she'd gone and bloody kissed her – _kissed_ her – and it had worked like a charm, and her ladyship's sobs had quickly dissolved into lustful groans. And now Cora was underneath her, pliant and aroused and Sarah had almost freed her of the dress, and a part of her wanted to _kiss_ Lady Mary for being such a bloody tart.

Sarah tugged at the dress, mouth practically watering at the bare flesh being revealed inch by inch, and Cora automatically acquiesced, as if she'd been _made_ to be loved, lifting her hips and then her back, so that the garment could be finally dragged free over the Countess' head and flung for once in Sarah's decade long career to the floor.

Her heart stopped at the sight before her.

She'd seen this body before of course, countless times, and thought it unfairly beautiful. But never like this. She'd never stripped Cora bare for the purpose of loving her and now that she had, she didn't have a bloody clue how she'd ever get any work done again, undressing _this_ form day and bleedin' night and remembering what she had been previously permitted to do! Her breasts were so stupidly gorgeous that Sarah almost stopped Cora's hands from unbuttoning her dress in shame. Even perfection was a word too weak to describe the woman in front of her, and if Sarah hadn't been going mad with desire before, she _certainly_ was now and she hadn't even touched her yet!

That was quickly remedied though and Sarah set to it, bypassing Cora's own seeking hands and pinning them at her sides, drawing an adorable little squeak of protest from her lips. The look of outrage on her face swiftly disappeared at the look of lust in Sarah's eyes and she kept her arms at her sides – for now. Releasing the limbs in the assurance that was she was about to do would render Cora immobile anyway, Sarah raised a now free hand, practically trembling in anticipation, to cup a soft, warm breast. Encouraged by Cora's lusty moan, she dragged a calloused thumb over her hard nipple and smiled as the Countess groaned, her back arching lightly off the bed.

Rolling the nipple between her fingers and listening to the appreciate whimpers escaping unheeded from her mistress' mouth, it occurred to Sarah that she could do this all bloody day and never get bored of it. She was half tempted to suggest the addition to her job description, but she was fairly sure that Lord Grantham might have something to say about that, and Mrs Hughes for that matter. The thought of his lordship gave her momentary pause, but if Cora wasn't put off by the notion of infidelity – though the part of her that _wasn't_ shuddering with desire suspected Cora might feel differently come morning – then Sarah wasn't either. Besides, she'd never been particularly fond of his lordship, and she wanted his wife more than she could begin to say; she was hardly going to worry herself silly over their marriage vows.

Sarah teased Cora's nipples until she couldn't take it anymore and leaned her head to take one inside her hot and eager mouth, lavishing attention on it with her hungry tongue. Cora whimpered helplessly at the action, arching her back and driving her hips into the mattress, and finally raised a rebellious hand to tangle in Sarah's hair, urging her on with a series of incoherent gasps and whimpers that sent wave after wave of lust straight to her own core. Bloody hell, she'd have to pick up speed if she had any hope of getting through this without exploding herself!

"O'Brien, touch me, _please_," Cora breathed suddenly, and Sarah thought her timing _matchless_.

Smirking, more than a little smug at the idea of what she was about to do to her mistress, Sarah released Cora's nipple with a pop and instead caught her lips, crushing their mouths together in hunger as her hand sought out the fabric of her knickers. She slid one experimental finger between her thighs and shuddered at the dampness she immediately encountered. The silk was utterly sodden, and probably ruined, but this woman was _more_ than worth it – at least _she_ was the one doing the laundry. Cora's moan, smothered against her lips, was all the confirmation she needed, and she hooked her fingers around the silk, dragging the material slowly, with impressive restraint, down her long and silky legs. Sarah fought back the urge to laugh at Cora's eagerness as the Countess automatically spread her legs, so ready and _so _wet and, beyond all rhyme and reason, wanting her. The reality of the situation suddenly came crashing down and it finally hit her, like a fucking lightning bolt, that she had the _Countess of Grantham_ naked underneath her, legs spread and ready to be ravished. Cora Crawley wanted _her_.

No. This would not be a clumsy fuck at all. She wanted to _deserve_ this moment.

"You're so bloody beautiful," she muttered as she spread her thighs further apart, and meant every single word. Cora merely whimpered in response, words failing her, as Sarah's fingers danced teasingly against her glistening sex, and arched again as they slid tremulously over her slick folds. Had his lordship ever done this, Sarah wondered, drawing another moan eagerly from the woman's lips as her digits crept ever closer to the silky little nub, and thought him bloody foolish if he hadn't. But then again she'd never thought Lord Grantham the sharpest tool in the shed and supposed his bedroom skills probably matched his intellect.

"Sarah, _please_," Cora begged, and locked her pleading eyes with Sarah's. Her hips rocked against her touch, and the Countess grinding herself shamelessly against her lady's maid's hand was probably the single most erotic thing Sarah had seen in her life. It, alongside the breathless uttering of her own Christian name – the first time she could recall Cora _ever_ using it – was more than enough to spur her into action and she smiled, slow and coy, before pressing two fingers hard against Cora's clit.

Her reaction confirmed her suspicion that his lordship was the biggest noodle this side of the Atlantic, and she flicked her fingers expertly over the sodden, throbbing flesh, absolutely determined to ensure the Countess _never_ forgot this night, despite the morbid circumstances that had brought them here. Cora squirmed and writhed and groaned, and Sarah knew she was hurtling quickly towards a powerful climax. She knew she could do better though and, pressing her thumb hard against the Countess' clit, she curved two fingers and thrust them hard inside, groaning at the feel of her ladyship's tight, wet heat surrounding her. She gently built up a rhythm deep inside her as Cora thrashed against the bed, and if she hadn't been biting down hard on her lip, Sarah would have worried she'd rouse the entire house with her screaming. Sarah slid her free hand up to massage a warm breast and she pressed their lips hungrily together ready to smother the inevitable cry.

She didn't have to wait long, and felt Cora come hard around her long fingers with a thankfully muted cry of her name. If she'd thought she'd seen beauty before, she had been _sorely _mistaken, and Sarah was positive she'd never see anything more bleedin' awe-inspiring than the sight of Cora bloody Crawley crashing uncontrollably over the edge, pulsing around her fingers and rocking her hips in utter abandon.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

Sarah soothed Cora's trembling as she sagged back, utterly spent, against the bed, pressing tender little kisses to her collarbone as she rode her orgasm to blissful completion. Her hand gripped at Sarah's hip, still shuddering despite her collapse, purring in feline satisfaction that did _nothing_ for the ache deep in Sarah's core. Seemingly aware of Sarah's presence once more, Cora raised her half-lidded eyes to hers and gave her a slow, calculating smile. Sarah shivered, and knew she was in deep, deep trouble.

"Have I thanked you yet for coming to my daughter's rescue?"

Sarah shook her head, tentatively slow with more than a little excitement.

Now the Countess' smile was practically _predatory._

"Well ... We'll have to do something about that, won't we O'Brien?"

She could only nod, mouth dry, before Cora flipped her over with shocking speed, and made sure that Sarah O'Brien _never_ underestimated her mistress again.

Her last conscious thought, before her brain melted into jelly, was that she'd carry corpse after corpse for the rest of her life if this was her bloody reward!


End file.
